


The Price of Victory

by TrainDriver43



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chloé Bourgeois Redemption, F/M, How Do I Tag, Humor, I love Chloé and I want to depict here realistically, I'm probably failing that tho, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some Explicit Language, it takes a lot of time though, mentions of Italian history, slow burn slow burn everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-03-26 20:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrainDriver43/pseuds/TrainDriver43
Summary: A man whose blessing and curse make his life a specific kind of hell struggles to find a way out of it, a cause worth fighting for.A girl who was never taught right from wrong desperately tries to do the right thing, and earn her peace with the others and herself.The conflict over the Miraculous rages fiercer than ever, reaching unprecedented levels. As heroes and villains fight, Paris awaits its fate.Those who fight this war dream of rewards they will claim, wish for their hopes to come true; but there's always a price to pay...





	1. Harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up.  
> There will be some dialogue in Italian, in Bold and Italic.  
> I thought of adding translation, but it was cumbersome, so I chose to keep it as simple as possible, to allow Google Translate to offer you guys a passable translation, to get the meaning. When it's needed, I'll provide explanation in the end notes!

As the TGV from Milan came to a stop on Track A of the Gare de Lyon, the usual human sea formed when the door opened quietly. Formed by the usual number of families coming or returning from a vacation, businessmen whose duties brought them from Italy to France, tourists eager to discover the Ville Lumière.

Nothing extraordinary. Not even the young man, looking just a bit over twenty, who, as soon as he disembarked from the high-speed train and made a few steps to allow his fellow travellers to get out as well, looked around in the venerable station, and breathed deeply. His eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, he gave a small pat to the front of his jacket, before grabbing his bag and moving towards the exit gates.

-

“Thank you for the tour, the house is every bit as much as I expected it.” he said, his eyes wandering around before settling on the landlord, a middle aged man whose satisfaction was as apparent as his eagerness and politeness.

“Of course. I'm a known man in the housing business, my reputation is pristine, as you may know!”

“Indeed. And I can see how justified it is. Now...” A hand disappeared in the backpack, and fished an envelope. “I believe this is the deposit we agreed upon. Please control that everything's in place, I'd hate for misunderstandings or mistakes to happen...”

Monsieur Pèronnet barely allowed him to finish the sentence, having quickly scanned the banknotes inside to his full satisfaction. “Oh, don't worry, don't worry, it's perfectly fine, absolutely! Everything's peachy! With this, I am sure our future business will be just as smooth and peaceful!”

Having settled that, the tenant politely waited for him to leave. The landlord, while getting the hint, stopped several times to thank him again and again, and to repeat his promises of service for anything he'd need (the exorbitant rent may have spurred him to do so a bit), but eventually he left.

After closing the door behind the jubilant businessman, the young man waited a good two minutes, then he slowly returned to the living room. With deliberation, he let gravity guide him to the sofa, with a satisfied grunt. He brought a hand to his head to remove his sunglasses, revealing a pair of grey eyes, which he proceeded to rub tiredly.

 _**"Dunque**_ **_, penso che sia abbastanza. Puoi venire fuori adesso, Tino!"_ **

On cue, from his jacket a small being fluttered out, surrounded by a peculiar, unnatural light. A being whose vaguely humanoid shape wasn't particularly weird, but whose appearance may have been. A flying, talking toy soldier, as if come of an old child's book.

“So, he got the money and left? Are you sure he'll keep his nose away? I'd rather not have any surprises!” the creature sniffed.

His companion shrugged. “He is a busy man, after all. I checked, he's got dozens of apartments in Paris and in the country; and as long as you pay, he doesn't give any issues to his tenants. With the rent I give him he will bend over backwards not to cross us, it should be like one time and a half of what he could've expected.”

“Eh... whatever.”

“Come. We'll order some food delivery and take it easy, tonight. Then we'll get to work.”

Tino perked up. “Ooh, do you think we could get some _Beef bourguignon_? I've always wanted to taste that!”

That earned him an amused glance. “Man, have I spoiled you so much? In the army you have to make do with what you got!”

“Not my fault you drag me here in one of the gastronomical capitals of the whole world! You can't blame me for that, Angelo!” was the squawked protest. “Besides, I'm not sure how much we will be able to indulge ourselves, in the future...” Tino added quietly.

“In the future...” Angelo sighed, a faraway look in his eyes.

The tiny being hovered close to him, and touched his cheek.

“What do you think will happen? Will we find him?”

“Not much choice here. And it shouldn't be that hard, with our... ability.” Angelo commented, frowning a bit.

“What about after?”

An eyebrow was quirked.

“If you're asking me if I've got any... ahem, gut feeling, I've got to disappoint you. I just... I don't know, feel that things are going to change, one way or another.”

Tino's face was pensive.

“And about...”

“I can't decide yet. We can't decide yet.” Angelo interjected firmly. “We have enough on our plate already without being dragged in someone else's mess. Even one in which we arguably should have a part.”

He rose and went for his backpack. “Speaking of which, I'll set up my laptop, and I'll check that Ladyblog again, who knows...”

“Again?” Tino huffed. “You've went over the posts, like, a hundred times. What are you looking for?”

“What I am looking for,” was the collected answer, “may not be in any post, but between them.”

That caused the creature to grimace. “Ugh, Jedi crap again? I knew I should have said something when you got all those Star Wars comics!”

“Trust the Living Force, my friend. It is strong in me, after all!” said Angelo solemnly, but his face was clearly losing the struggle not to smirk.

And not for the last time, as playful insults started being thrown around once more, he wondered what he could've done without such a friend in all the time they had been together.

-

Even with the current threat of a superpowered terrorist unleashing Akumas on the city, despite grim predictions by experts that never seemed to be lacking over a tragedy, tourism in Paris hadn't take a huge hit. The numbers remained almost as high as the previous years, and tourists kept flocking giddily, unknowing or uncaring of the dangers.

With no less than eighteen millions of them wandering the city throughout the year, it was easy for Angelo to disappear in the crowd, even though his tour didn't exactly bring him to the usual tourist traps or main attractions.

Well, save for one. He had climbed on the Eiffel Tower, and had spent a good deal of time scrutinizing Paris from that vantage point, ignoring the yells squeals and comments of all the people occupying the observation deck. Even though a particularly loud and obnoxious Roman tourist made it very hard.

After that stop, he just began to walk.

And walk.

And walk.

One _arrondissement_ after the other.

Tino kept repeating (quietly, when he let him out or from the recesses of the pocket) that, with the sunglasses on and the stony way he set his jaw, Angelo only needed a trench coat or something and he would be the protagonist of a B-rated spy movie.

Angelo told him he ought to shut up. Then, after a few moments, he laughed heartily.

To the first day, followed others, with the same schedule.

Wake up, eat something at a café (as an Italian, Angelo was kind of loathe to admit it, but there was something about French croissants that made their buttery deliciousness _perfect_ for breakfast, even though he often wished for some good, strong Italian-style coffee), start walking, stop to eat something around noon more or less, keep walking, then go home, make dinner, and then waste time on the web before going to sleep.

He didn't mind. He was used to it, and got a strange kind of comfort in the sequel of boring, uneventful days.

He was also grateful, as he told Tino one evening, that no accidents had happened, meaning that Papillion hadn't showed up with his Akumas. That was a complication he wished to avoid, at least for the moment.

The Kwami looked pensive, then looked at him and told him he was probably right. But the reserves in his tone were evident. Not a problem; it would've been thoroughly worrying had they always agreed on everything, even after all that time.

And, of course, it was only a matter of time before the routine got interrupted.

As predicted, it happened suddenly.

Angelo got the jolt, deep within his being, that almost made him lose his step. He came to a stop (not all of a sudden, he'd rather not fall flat on his nose), and tapped his Bluetooth. A handy device for someone wishing to hide the fact that he was talking to the tiny divine being hidden in his pocket.

_**"Beh, direi che ci siamo."** _

Tino didn't answer at first; he was holding his breath. Did Kwami breathe, by the way?

“I felt it clearly. This is it, no doubt!”

His voice held no mystery for his companion. “Scared? Do you wish to come another day?”

“No! It's... it's high time we did this. We talked about this, Angelo; no afterthoughts. Time to charge into battle!”

The Italian chuckled, but without much enthusiasm or joy. “I guess you're right.”

He looked up to the building. His hand went to the sunglasses to allow him a better peek.

“Here we go. Let's see what the future has in store for us!”

And he strode towards the entrance.

-

Of course, both men had understood who they were facing the moment Angelo entered the massage parlor.

Wang Fu had merely invited him to the back of the store, where they could talk without being disturbed.

"What does your Kwami like?"

Angelo winced as if he were accused, even though the question was anything but. Was it the tension? Fear, perhaps?

Clearing his throat, he replied: "Actually, he is kind of eclectic in his tastes, and doesn't have particular likes or dislikes."

"Then I hope this tea and these sweets are likable enough for him" said the last of the Guardians, as he put the cups and the plate down the table.

As if ordered to show up, Tino floated out of the pocket; and then he gulped.

Angelo resisted the urge to snort. The Kwami had never,  _never_ showed nervousness before anything or anyone; at most, irritation or frustration.

The tiny godlike being bowed respectfully, and his voice came humbler than he had ever heard: "Greetings, Guardian. My name is Tino."

Fu answered in the same manner, although more heartily. "A pleasure to know you, Tino. Please, help yourself."

This was all the encouragement the little soldier needed to giddily fling himself into the sweets, his nervousness all but forgotten.

Until a pair of disapproving eyes, coming from a tiny turtle floating near the plate, met his.

"I am Wayzz, the Kwami of Protection and companion of Master Fu." The creature's tone was decidedly colder than that of his master. "And I do feel you are an issue."

 _Ouch_.

Angelo saw Tino flinch, and for a moment awaited an explosion.

But his companion merely dropped his head a bit.

"I... may be, I know. But the circumstances of my being here... in this world... were beyond my choosing and beyond my power to change."

This earned a reaction from both hosts: Fu's expression, from absently benign, became inquisitive, with a touch of sadness, while Wayzz's disapproval went down a notch. Or even two.

Angelo wished to say something, he opened his mouth to do so, but he found nothing to say. Tino wasn't the only one who was feeling more nervous than before in his life.

Fu looked at him and let out a sigh. "I'm afraid this is going to be both complicated and painful, for both of you. But if answers are what you seek, I believe that having you tell me the circumstances of your... bond," nobody in the room missed the slight hesitation, "would be most beneficial."

"Of course," the Italian said, hesitatingly, "even though you're right. This will be painful."

Of course it would be. But, prepared or not, it was what was necessary.

So, he told the old master everything.

-

 As much as he struggled to keep the tale devoid of any emotion and any unnecessary details, Angelo wondered how much time he had taken up when he finished.

Fu hadn't showed any sign of distress or tiredness as he absorbed everything he told.

The only movement had been, other than his own, by Tino, who had closed in whenever he knew he was about to talk about something particularly painful.

And more than anything else, the precise moment they had been joined together; their existence bonding in a way they didn't understand.

Only when Angelo stopped talking, did Master Fu stir. But he didn't speak for a good few minutes.

"What you went through is... something I never thought would be possible to survive unscathed. The fact that you are of sound mind and haven't taken up any.... questionable behavior is admirable."

The Italian chuckled at that. "How can you be sure I told you everything? How do you know I didn't 'forget' some episodes of my life?"

The Guardian's eyes were full with empathy and pity. "Other than such behavior would be illogical on your part, as you wish for my help, I am quite positive you disclosed everything you did... or didn't do."

 _Guilty_.

"Heh... I guess, when you got a long life, you get many chances to sit and wonder what could've been done differently." 

At this Fu gave a sad smile for both his guest and himself. "A past time I have indulged in myself, I confess."

Some more tea helped with the dry throat he had gotten; but did little with the knot he realized was now in his chest.

Angelo opted to follow the Guardian's example and cut to the chase. He breathed as he put down the cup.

"Forgive me, but... I have told you everything about how this situation came to be and all the subsequent effects. So, are you able to... intervene?" There was no point in hiding whatever emotion found its way into his question.

Fu's eyes became a special kind of sad, and he got his answer before the elder even spoke back.

"I am really sorry. Your situation is something that even the Order of Guardians, made whole again, wouldn't be able to correct; it  _is_ unique, after all. Back in the day, they would have started looking for a solution, and perhaps in a matter of... decades they might have found it. But I am unable to do so. Any intervention in my part would only further destabilize your power, likely end your life and... result in huge collateral damage."

Angelo didn't react to the answer, except for the last part. The alarm, horror and pain in his eyes were unmistakeable.

"I... I think I caused enough collateral damage for a lifetime!" he choked.

The Guardian rose and, circling the table, went to put a hand on his shoulder. "I am truly sorry. I wish I were able to help you as you desire. Unfortunately, whatever happened all these years ago is something incredibly powerful. It's terrible that its first manifestation was such a tragedy."

To escape the feelings that were becoming to overcome him, Angelo reacted as he usually did: he shielded himself with sarcasm.

"Want the name and number of the guy in charge? Might want to tell him a few choice words, if you can reach him beyond death!"

Wayzz, who had listened in without making a peek, floated up to his face. He wondered how much broken he was if the pity apparent on the Kwami didn't anger him; weren't hurt people supposed to lash out at pity?

"While your condition cannot be resolved once and for all, I am sure Master Fu can prepare something to at least reduce the symptoms, and alleviate your pain a bit, for both of you."

"That I can do, in fact." agreed the old man. "Give me a few minutes, and I will be able to concoct something that will make your... physical pain more bearable."

Angelo made a noncommittal sound. "Eh. You know, it's curious. The pain, I mean. When it's such a close companion, meeting it so often, you end up finding it familiar, but you never get accostumed completely." He paused, looking into his half-drunk cup. "I appreciate your effort. I believe I already knew the answer before I set foot here, anyway."

"I truly wish I could at least give you some hope. But your situation is truly something I never even thought possible. It would be fascinating, if it hadn't cost you so much already." the Guardian declared. "Never would I have considered that a botched Miraculous creation could create a bond a thousand times stronger than what is the case with the others. And that it would create such an.... unnatural symbiotic relationship between its magic and your life force. On one hand, your life force serves as its direct tether to this world, to the point of discharging into you, into your spirit, any and all fluctuations in power. On the other, the power it injects into your life force has boosted it to unprecedented levels. If I were to make an educated guess, I think that as a conservative estimate, it would be enough to sustain you for a hundred of the normal lifetimes a human being can hope for on this Earth."

Nothing unknown, again. But to be told in plain words was a knife in the heart of his hopes.

Angelo looked up, only to find Fu gone, likely to prepare the concoction he had been promised. Sighing, he brought the cup to his lips to down it.

Wayzz spoke again; but this time, he spoke to Tino.

"I am sorry."

The tiny being blinked. "For what? I get your point, I  _am_ an issue. I thought you'd call me worse, I was thinking you and the Guardian might call me even worse... an abomination, a walking heresy..."

The Turtle Kwami interrupted him again. "Things may have been different had the Order not been destroyed, years ago, I admit it. But now there's little point in holding on to dogmas that cannot be enforced anymore. Also, it took me a long time, but I saw that both of you," and he looked up to Angelo, "have not abused the power so uniquely gained, and are in a pain that I cannot even imagine, myself. No old beliefs should stand in the way of helping those who suffer."

"Isn't this your role, though?" the Italian interjected. "Tino has... well, his knowledge is... innate, I guess, that's why he knew of the Guardians and of the other Kwamis, vaguely. But he does know enough to tell me that the Kwami of Protection stands to protect, to defend. That does not only mean defending against physical threat, but also to protect against deviations and missteps that, little by little, could have a huge impact in the Miraculous. Your reaction is appropriate, in this context."

"You are quite insightful, my young friend. Yes, Wayzz stands to protect against all you have spoken about. However, as it is the case with all things, to one side there is always another. Sometimes, to protect and to defend, we end up refusing changes to the status quo, refuse to see the wheels of time that change things up irrevocably. Inertia and conservatism: this is the greatest danger for the Turtle Kwami, and those who wield it." Master Fu said, coming back in, a silk bag in his hands.

He placed it before Angelo, who gratefully took it with a slight bow.

"Once more, I say I am truly sorry to be unable to help you further. But if the cause of your pain and issues is beyond my help, rest assured that if you need counsel, advice or merely someone to talk to, you will be always welcome here."

"Thank you, Master." the Italian answered, and then found himself adding: "Although..."

The Guardian tilted his head, slightly, encouraging him to talk.

Hesitatingly, the young man asked: "Aren't you going to ask for our help? You know, in the whole Paris situation?" He gestured behind his back. "I have followed things up. In fact, when I heard of this I got one of those gut feelings I told you about that urged me to come here. I know how things stand. You know our limitations, but we would be able to do something. Why haven't you requested it?"

 _Papillion_.

The Master nodded pensively, without breaking eye contact.

"I... considered that, but I decided against it." Seeing Angelo's confusion, he added: "I feel that, whatever may happen, it ought to do so of your own volition. I have no doubt that you would provide your help if I did ask for it. But for some reason, my... wisdom tells me that your path must be your own. If you are to join in the effort against Papillion, it must be your own decision."

His eyes wandered away from the Italian's, and his voice took on an almost prophetic tone that caused shivers.

"Roles, you mentioned. While it is comforting to know exactly where one stands, it can also be limiting to one's abilities and possibilities. And, for all the hardships you faced, for all the pain you went through, I sense that your fate rests in your hands more than any other man I've met. We all have our choices, we all make our destiny. But few have so much power over it than you. I feel it clearly. That is why I will not take the decision for you. If you are to intervene, it will be for your own motives, out of your own volition."

Angelo was reduced to dying fish mode, mouth wide open. He glanced at Tino, and saw a tiny reflection of himself.

"That's... scary". he muttered

"It is." Fu said gravely. "As always, what can be a blessing can turn out to be a curse, and vice-versa. But it is how it is."

"We take what is given." That got a smirk from Tino. Well, who said wisdom couldn't come from  _comic books_?

The Guardian nodded. "Indeed. And I can assure you, I trust you will not abuse this opportunity, as much as you haven't abused your powers so far."

A numb nod was all that Angelo could muster; he was feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Fu's kind smile told him he had noticed as well. "I believe that is quite enough, for today."

"Yeah... sorry..." the Italian apologized, standing up and wobbling slightly.

"No apologies needed. You did a brave thing today, telling me everything to ask for my help. I wish I'd been able to help more decisively, but I am most relieved that the strange feeling I had a few days ago turned out not to be a menace."

That shook him out of his daze. A glance was enough to confirm his suspicion: had he been a threat... well, he wouldn't have remained in Paris for long. Or maybe even in this world.

Patting the youngster on the arm, the Guardian walked him to the door.

"Go home and rest now, I can imagine how stressful it must have been for you. See what the future brings you."

"The future..." Angelo repeated, and his mind wandered.

For so long, 'future' was a meaningless word, for someone who was condemned to see the world change around him, as if he were in a glass prison.

'Future' was something that he could ignore, if not to rue the fact that he had been deprived of one.

But after today...?

Angelo jumped up a bit in surprise, when he realized that, for the first time in years, he was looking forward for... _something_. He was awaiting for what would happen; in a day, in a week, in a month, who knew. But that didn't matter.

He was excited. And equally scared. Both emotions he hadn't felt in a very long time.

 _One way or another, things will change_ , he recalled dumbly.

 _ **"Madre Vergine santa!"**_   he cursed under his breath. Or was it a prayer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how it begins.  
>   
> I want to introduce my character as slowly as possible. I plan on taking my sweet time in developing his background, explaining his reasons and allowing you to finally get what makes him tick! Also, his name is kind of important; just sayin'.  
>   
> As you can see from the tags, I'll focus a lot on Chloé, she's an intriguing character and I want to explore her. My take is that, as someone whose parents have basically never taught anything and who is accostumed to get what she wants when she wants, she is basically broken. On one hand, she genuinely believes she is better than anyone, because that's what she learned growing up, but on the other hand she has deep insecurities and fear that will show up in the end (thank you Audrey). I want to get into that, but slowly, with as much conflict and struggle as possible, I feel there's too many fanfics where she turns around in a day or something like that and I don't like that. She'll need lots of time here to put this behind her and behave better.  
>   
> Also, both my OCs have plenty of free time, since they cannot exactly go and make friends (at least until now), so they've both taken up reading tons of stuff, and comics as well. That's why they keep throwing around lines and acting a bit like addicts!  
>   
> If you have questions or advice, feel free to comment!  
>   
> -  
>   
>  **Dunque** : this word means 'therefore', and although now it's going out of use a bit, it was common to start a phrase with that.  
>  **Madre Vergine santa!** : an old-style curse often used in Italy; it is common, even for non-religious people, to take in religious-based interjections such as these.


	2. First shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more glimpses at the dark and troubled past of our protagonists, and finally some action!
> 
> For once Chloé does not like to be the damsel in distress. Someone please send a savior with a better fashion sense.

It took days of allusions, hints and prodding by Tino to finally get Angelo to admit that he was rattled by the conversation had with the Guardian, and that he was not “as okay as he could get”. 

If the Kwami hadn't been in a somewhat similar situation, he would've empathized with his companion's denial, confusion and, one might say, desperation. As someone who had coasted through the world for years and years and years, taking great care in not caring about pretty much anything or anyone (might seem harsh, but it was a way to keep his sanity, unfortunately), knowing that that might change was more than enough to throw him for a loop. 

When Tino suggested that Fu hadn't exactly predicted the future and it was a mere hypothesis, he had gained an 'are you effing kidding me' look worthy of a rage comic. Yeah, he hadn't even believed that himself, so he had it coming. 

And yet, it had been relatively easy, as long as it remained something far away from their eyes and their ears. 

Of course, then they had to go and watch on as an Akuma sprouted and began wrecking the city. 

They both didn't remember him (or was it a her) or the name; it didn't matter. What had mattered was seeing the familiar figures, a red one and a black one, swoop down from the palaces and face it. 

Angelo later realized he had plastered a really stupid expression on his face, but luckily it wasn't such an uncommon reaction. Legions of fanboys (and fangirls, in Chat Noir's case) swooned over every movement or word out of the couple of heroes, so nobody gave a damn about him. Thank the heavens. 

Throughout the fight, the Italian had kept his eyes transfixed on the two superpowered individuals, and tried to decipher the odd tug in his chest that he felt, something never felt before. 

He asked Tino if he had gone amok in his pocket. Tino didn't speak to him for a good forty minutes, outraged by the accusation, and Angelo had to use the heavy artillery (also known as _baicoli_ ) to get him to drop the act. He eventually stated that, as much as his power predictably went a bit haywire being close to two powerful Miraculous, he hadn't done anything. 

So, what was it?

 Angelo spent so much time slumped on the couch, twisting and turning and tapping his fingers on his mouth, that Tino had to shriek in his ear to make him notice that dinnertime had come and go. Seeing him fall off the couch in surprise in his galvanic way was worth the wait, though. 

But even with his love for food, it didn't escape his notice that Angelo hadn't taken out any food for himself, instead sitting pensively at the kitchen table. 

Tino loved his friend to bits, he would have walked through hellfire for him without hesitation, but sometimes he felt he needed to be slapped. So, he did. 

“Roccaraso!” he said, without raising his voice, almost casually.

 The impact with the forbidden name, one never spoken of or mentioned, was devastating, and for a fleeting moment Tino saw through Angelo's eyes a door to his tortured, screaming, locked away soul. 

The next, the grey eyes shone with the usual self-defensive sarcasm, the wall with which the Italian kept away what he carried within, what could destroy him all too easily. 

“Why am I surprised that you know me so easily?”

 “Don't make me blush. Have anyone gifted with average perception stay close to you for almost three quarters of a century, and he'll pick up a few things.” the Kwami said dismissively. 

Angelo nodded with an exaggerated smirk. Then, just as predicted, he let out his wall a bit and asked in a low voice: “You can tell me all the reasons why thinking over that is wrong, but can you blame me?” 

Without stopping the act of shoving dry fruit in his mouth, Tino tried to cheer him up: “I can't, if only because if I did I'd be an hypocrite. I saw what you saw, I felt what you were feeling... as much as one like me can get human emotion, your being scarred is justified. It was...” He struggled to find a word. "devastating." 

“I am not...” the young man began, then he sighed. “I am totally scarred, who am I kidding?” 

“Did you... dream about that?”  

Angelo smiled, which was a good sign. “Nah, I would tell you at once if that happened, that would be a major problem, but no. It has just been on my mind a lot.” 

A few minutes passed, Tino eating but glaring, and his companion guiltily drumming his fingers on the table. 

“I am scared to death.” the latter finally declared. 

The tiny god sighed: “Progress, at least. What can I tell you? You have a right to be scared, nobody could tell you otherwise if they knew. I am scared as well.” 

The chair squeaked as Angelo rose and began to pace slowly. 

“We talked about this to the death, I know that... But I'm just finding out how stupidly complicated we can make things. For all this time, I wished for nothing else but a change, any change... a tiny hope to see something at the end of the tunnel.” He paused, grabbing the coffee pot to stare accusingly at it. “Perhaps, other than scared about it, I'm just uncomfortable in leaving my zone. I've become so used at moping around, at grumbling about how things suck, that now that there might be something cookin', I discover it was comforting to be depressed and on the bring of a nervous breakdown.” That last phrase made him chuckle, darkly. 

Tino shrugged. “It's far easier to stay still and be a punching bag, than to put on the gloves and do some of the punching.”

 “Damn straight.” Those enthusiastic words were followed, however, by silence. 

The Kwami actually stopped eating while Angelo slowly sat down. And flinched when he looked up at him. 

“I have so many questions, so many things that I cannot answer. Are we up to do this on a full-time basis? Are our powers going to be ok?” He stopped, and looked down as he brought a hand over his heart. His voice went down to a whisper. “After all these years shutting everything out, can I do the right thing?” 

Alarmed, Tino shot up and physically forced him to look up. 

“I cannot answer all that. But I know that, if you are actually asking yourself those questions, you don't have to worry.” 

The smile he got in response really moved him; this was another moment when he wished Angelo could let it out and cry. Alas, this was not to be. 

“Do you think it'll be enough?” The tone was more hopeful; victory. 

“We shall see.” Tino said forcefully. Then, unable to resist, added with his voice breaking already: “Trust the Force, young Padawan.” 

It wasn't pleasant, after having eaten, but the swat he was given was totally worth the laugh Angelo let out. 

-

 After so much agonizing, the actual decision came to be almost disappointingly quick. 

Another Akuma, loose in Belleville. 

Being close enough, Angelo chose to take a peek. As he strode briskly towards the area highlighted by the Ladyblog (handy thing, that one), his curiosity about the kind of Akuma got satisfied soon enough. The number of persons of all ages and condition moving around, distraught but unable to utter the slightest sound from their mouths (or from any other source, for that matter) was more than enough to get the hint. 

Just as he got to the street where the Akuma (recognizable by the improbably huge ear muffs he was wearing, other than the very visible black-and-yellow warning color mesh), both Ladybug and Chat Noir landed gracefully (the former) or acrobatically (the latter) nearby. 

“What's the issue, pal?” asked innocently the feline hero. “Got an ear infection or something? Want the _cat_ to get everybody's tongues?” 

“How can there be peace when everyone is accostumed to make so much noise?!” The Akuma managed to bellow without raising his voice, somehow. At least he was consistent. “I, the Silencer, will make Paris quiet again. And when I will get your Miraculous, Paris will be quiet and peaceful forever!” 

Angelo rolled his eyes, amused. Hard not to sympathize with the poor guy, sometimes he wanted to bite the head off some rude guy who made the wrong noise at the wrong moment. Either the traffic had drove him nuts, or he had been waken up early and everything had snowballed. 

He leaned against a wall and looked on, without much thought about personal safety. 

Not that he needed to, in the end. More than destroying stuff, Silencer looked content at shooting Ladybug and Chat Noir with some sort of ray gun, likely how he shut up everybody. Angelo let out a snort when Ladybug threw her yo-yo against a parked car and shattered the windshield, and the villain whined loudly.

But he stopped when Chat Noir got tagged. And that made Ladybug hesitate long enough for Silencer to tag her as well. No harm done, except the fact that neither could make a peep; somebody would have found their wide eyes and open mouths comical. 

Not Angelo. He grimaced and he set his sunglasses better up his nose; he knew something about how to fight, and one thing he knew was that a party unable to communicate and/or to properly coordinate was fighting with a major handicap. 

He hated to find out he was right. 

Despite their long months of practice together, which made them predict relatively easily the respective movements and timings, being unable to speak hindered their efforts quite a bit, to the point of beginning to stand in each other's way. A factor worsened as time passed and both began to got a bit flustered and frustrated by the situation, especially Chat Noir. 

Angelo was beginning to wonder if this situation was serious enough to warrant an intervention, when the Silencer, quietly cackling at the defenders' predicament, suddenly screamed (rather girlishly, too) as a firecracker went off close to him. 

Jumping up as well, the Italian spun, and was baffled at seeing that the impromptu intervention had been caused by a blonde girl with brand name clothes ill-fitting with a superpowered fight and a voice too shrill and authoritative for her own good.

 “Take this, you fiend! Ladybug! I'm here to help you, to show that even without powers I am totally able to help you out!” 

Wincing and feeling a bit lost, Angelo looked around; his mind clicked into place as he saw in the distance a limo, and recognized the ponytail and the attitude. For some reason, the bratty daughter of the Mayor he had read about had decided to come lend a hand. 

As ridiculously simple and foolish her intervention was, it gave the heroes an opening, as Silencer writhed in pain. Chat Noir gave a toothy grin as, somersaulting right next to the Akuma, he crashed a clawed hand down his gun. He opened his mouth and called for his signature move. 

And nothing happened. 

 _Blink. Blink._  

Gaping openly, Angelo let a yelp as Tino jabbed him. 

“Stupid cat.” he heard the annoyed hiss. “No speaking, no powers! Would be different if he were more experienced, but not like this!” 

 _Damn. Quite the fearsome enemy, this one. One point to Papillion._  

So, simple fact. This was now a losing battle. He came to the conclusion before Silencer reacted and, springing to his feet, clocked a shocked Chat right in the kisser, and then went for Ladybug. She was able to overcome her own surprise to block two surprisingly fast haymakers, but the vicious kick in her gut knocked the wind out of her. 

Angelo didn't wait to see what came next. Didn't wait to recognize the tug in his spirit, the ultimate gut feeling he could get, telling him something he understood all too well. He turned around and began to run. 

Stopping only when he found a suitable alley, empty of onlookers or peeping Toms, he looked down, to meet Tino's gaze. 

“Guess the time to make our choice is now.” he said matter-of-factly. Of course; but he couldn't hide his own excitement mixed with fear. 

“No going back now.” the Italian stated. 

“Hate to tell you, but this is no time to ponder the pros and cons once more.” 

He glanced down at the Kwami, and a heartfelt smile went straight to his lips from the depths of his heart. 

“ _ **Ho già scelto. Che il futuro porti ciò che porti. Sei con me, amico mio?”**_  

An identical smile was the answer. 

“ _ **Per sempre, e fino alla fine!”**_  

He had had no doubts; but he needed to hear it nonetheless. Truly, no going back. 

A breath, then Angelo firmly grabbed in his hand the belt buckle he was wearing, an inconspicuous rectangular piece of brass with an eagle spreading his wings on it, a crown above its head and an oval shield with a cross on its chest.

 Determination _sparked_ from his eyes as he roared the fatal phrase. 

“ _ **TINO! OBBEDISCO!”**_ ****

-

Chloé Bourgeois was  _seriously_ reconsidering her willingness to show Ladybug that she had been wrong in considering too dangerous for her to be Queen Bee again.

That Akuma was positively terrifying, and was smart in grabbing every advantage he could.

She had never believed a fight could be decided so quickly and by such little details and moments, yet both Ladybug and Chat Noir were, by all means, down for the count.

Silencer turned towards her, and she flinched. His vengeful expression became sour when the familiar butterfly outline showed up on his face.

"Shut up, Papillion!" he snarled. "I will get those trinkets as soon as I'm done with this little  _heckler_ here! I'll shut her up so much, she'll have to go hide in a convent!"

Even the danger that made her body go tight in alarm wasn't enough for Chloé to feel outrage at that. Forced to get in a convent? How  _dare_ he! It was such a boring place, she would  _die_ in there. For the briefest moment, she considered to just ask him to kill her outright.

Silencer raised his gun. Chloé threw her arms before her in a futile attempt to shield herself from the oncoming doom.

And then, out of the blue, a shot rang up.

And the Akuma was slammed backwards with a vengeance.

Turning to her side, the mayor's daughter gaped at the improbable savior that had delivered her from a fate worse than death.

As he lowered the still smoking rifle (with a bayonet? who carried those things anymore?), he straightened up a bit, showing an old-fashioned military jacket and trousers whose blue was so dark that it was almost black. The only touches of color were the shining buttons, an even more shining belt buckle and the crimson bands on the side of said trousers. And those weird white things on top of his shoes; gaiters, really?

Chloé looked up at the face. As she half-expected (she _was_ a leading expert on Parisian heroic matters, after all), she couldn't make much of it, other than the man (that much was certain at least) was sporting a full beard. Also thanks to the ridiculous,  _ridicolous_ wide brimmed hat he wore cocked to the right side. And... were those  _feathers_ on that?

Her brain wondered if she had died and had gone to fashion hell or something.

Whoever he was, he strode forwards quickly, barely sparing a glance at the girl, before returning his attention to the furious villain. He stopped when he was ahead of Chloé, as if to cover her, the rifle kept at the ready but not aimed at his opponent.

Scrambling back to his feet, Silencer screeched: "What did you DO?! Who are you?!"

The stranger let out a crooked smirk, and something shone under the brim of his hat.

"Long story, but as for the abridged version..." he said, in a light, teasing tone. "I am trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... more allusions, but nothing concrete yet. Because of course I'll first show how much Angelo is messed up, before actually telling you why he is. MWAHAHAH!!
> 
> Now, I have a bit of a confession to make, I haven't actually watched all the episodes and the fights against Akumas, so I may write down something that does not coincide with what happens on screen.  
> For this reason, I went with this idea that, while LB could probably concentrate and use Lucky Charm and eventually Miraculous Ladybug even without using words, CN hasn't the focus to do so. Well, who can blame him, he's just having fun and doing the right thing, he's not the one to get down and really think about these things. At least, for now, who knows...  
> Also, I really want to emphasize that Hawkmoth is definitely upping his game here, and therefore the Akumas are going to be serious business. Also a bit more creative in using their powers, even though this particular one is also definitely lucking, he's hit the jackpot in having sound-depriving powers. Maybe Hawkmoth should take note and concentrate on people stressed out by the traffic of Paris...  
>   
> I considered various alternatives, but I ended up saying 'screw that', so Angelo's phrase to transform is something every historian of the Risorgimento should know (said, or at least stated, by Giuseppe Garibaldi himself). I picked it also because it was historically both an acceptance of something beyond his control, and at the same time pretty much an 'eff you' as big as etiquette back then allowed. The perfect thing to say for a character with ambivalent thoughts on fate and duty, in my opinion!  
>   
> I introduced Chloé earlier than I had planned to when I started writing this down, but I rolled with it.  
> I should specify, as this happens after Miraculer, she has been inactivated and isn't feeling peachy about it. I'll explore this in the next chapters... that is, if she doesn't go to the hospital because of Angelo's uniform!  
> I mean, anybody would be pretty confused if they met somebody wearing something like that, I honestly laughed when i imagined Chloé's reaction at seeing this (more or less):  
> http://www.militaria1848-1918.ideasolidale.org/UploadedImage/image/Romano%20bersagliere%202.JPG


	3. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero saves the day and causes a fashion-based meltdown; not too bad for his first day.
> 
> When it's over, he disappears into mystery and solitude, because it's pizza time!

Angelo could _feel_ the power crackling in his muscles, the energy coursing through his veins and zipping over his bones. 

He loved it, and he hated it. It was exhilarating to get such an intimate touch with a power that made him a dangerous (and, by how things went around there, pretty much unstoppable), and cruel to be reminded of the price he'd pay later. Not that he was likely to forgot the last part, anyway.

  _At least this is a good day_ , he mused. 

Silencer howled quietly (seriously, how did he do that?), and blasted away with his gun. 

That was Angelo's cue. He ran. 

Judging by the Akuma's mouth hanging open, and by the squeak of the Bourgeois girl behind him, the speed with which he ran was somewhat surprising. He grinned. 

Suddenly turning on his heels, he started off in another direction, handily avoiding a ray that otherwise would've tagged him. Flashing a smile at his flustered enemy, he rolled around another, not breaking his rhythm even with the backpack bouncing on his back. 

“Stay still, you noisy freak!” 

Angelo chuckled, not even fazed by his acrobatics: “Sorry, no can do. Gotta air the uniform, it's been ages since I wore it, and it smells a bit!” 

 _Yeah, no kidding, can't remember the last time I transformed. Eight years ago? Nine?_  

“Where did you find it?! In an anime series?” the Akuma asked, annoyed. 

 _Ouch_. 

Pouting, the Italian said: “Respect the uniform, man. The Bersaglieri are still an elite infantry corps, last I knew!” 

For the first time, Silencer raised his voice a bit, without ceasing to pull the trigger frantically. 

“...Are you Italian? I _hate_ Italians! They're so noisy!!” 

“...I'd say something something Latin sisters, blah blah blah, but on average I couldn't say you are wrong.” the new hero admitted, a thoughtful expression on his face, as if not busy dodging rays left and right. 

All of a sudden, he stopped, twisting his upper body to bring him to face the Akuma; the rifle went to his shoulder, and his thumb went up and down. 

A sharp noise preceded the old-fashioned cloud of smoke, and once more Silencer yelped as the bullet punched the heck out of him. 

“Yep. That was pretty noisy.” Angelo commented, standing up. So quickly that onlookers might have felt nausea, he half-cocked the hammer, fished a cap in his pouch, put that in the nipple, and fully cocked the rifle.

  _Second round._  

-

 Chloé was by all means in full _Chloe.exe has stopped working_ mode.

 She thought she had seen everything since Papillion had started terrorizing Paris. 

Then she had thought she had truly seen everything when she had been chosen ( _cough cough_ ) to wield a Miraculous. 

She was so wrong. 

And there was something about this ridiculous guy, with a parasol for a hat and running and jumping around as if he hadn't a backpack that must have weighed a good thirty kilograms, that was just murdering her poor brain cells. 

Chloé was _so_ going to need aspirin later. Or a full mani-pedi. Or both. 

A small issue in being frozen, however, was that she could get in the path of Silencer's frenzied rays, as he unsuccessfully kept attempting to tag the new guy. 

And one ray would have struck her right in the chest, hadn't the dark blue figure swooped in and used his rifle's butt as an impromptu shield. 

Chloé shrieked, more out of shock than out of fear. The stranger turned around and shot her a rather amused glance under his hat. 

“I'd advise against freaking out right now. Please take cover, then you can freak out as much as you want!” 

He was having _fun_. That thought flared her Bourgeois spirit and shook her from her daze. 

“Who the hell _are_ you?!” she demanded, pointing an accusing finger. 

Even as he turned around, preparing to fire again, the man shrugged at her. 

“Hard to say, to be completely honest. Can I think about it?” 

 _BANG!_ For the third time Silencer was down for the count. On cue, Chloé bolted towards cover; her hair was already ruined enough without risking further damage. 

The figure easily kept up with her, his head half-turned to keep an eye on the Akuma. 

But when he talked again, it wasn't with the light-hearted, joking tone of before. 

“I...” he began, in a low voice that puzzled the girl. And when he spoke again, there was something there (sadness? regret?) that made her shudder: “ _ **Io sono un soldato!**_ ” 

That wouldn't have meant much for the average Frenchman, but one thing Chloé had honestly learned all on her own was a basic knowledge of some of the most important foreign languages, Italian included. 

More confused than ever, she repeated: “...You are a soldier? What does that even mean?” 

The hat swiveled towards her, and even someone not exactly perceptive at her could've seen that in those eyes there was something that hadn't been meant to be shared. Then, the joking tone came back in full force. 

“Oh, you know Italian? Why, this makes me happy! My compliments to you!” Words accompanied by a freaking tip of the hat, nonetheless! 

Thoroughly lost and more than a bit irritated, Chloé couldn't help but think that, now that she knew, she could clearly hear the accent in the man's fluid French, clear as day. 

But... if he was Italian, why was he gallivating around in that _outfit_?! 

As they reached a bar, with upturned tables and the patrons hiding behind them or behind the counter, her companion stopped and gave her a grin. 

“Stay safe. I have a battle to fight.” 

And he turned around and _leaped_ back in action. 

 _Definitely_ both an aspirin and a mani-pedi. 

-

 As dangerous as he was, Silencer hadn't been gifted with as much strength as other, more physical Akumas. That was why he was currently having trouble getting off the car he had slammed into by the last blow. 

Both Ladybug and Chat Noir had long recovered from the blows they had gotten, but hadn't gotten back into the fight, due to a mixture of surprise and fascination. 

They were both startled when the unexpected helper came running (and that meant _running_ , he was ridiculously fast) and stopped right near them. 

Slightly popping his hat with a thumb, he stated matter-of-factly: “I believe we ought to skip the pleasantries right now and focus on taking this guy down.” He looked at Ladybug: “Could you try your Lucky Charm?” 

Ladybug was too surprised to express herself, but Chat wasn't. He waved his arms and empathetically pointed to his right clawed hand, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. 

“I get what you mean, Chat Noir, but something tells me she might have more luck than you, if she focuses. Want to give it a try?” was the mildly infuriating answer. 

Ladybug looked at the irritated Chat, then back at the stranger, who merely tilted his head a little. She had never tried to use her Lucky Charm without being able to speak... but if there was a chance... 

She briefly closed her eyes to take a deep breath, then her yo-yo rose high, her mind behind a single, desperate thought. 

And after a few tense moments, the magic obediently poured forth even without the words, and a red black-spotted loudspeaker fell into her hands. 

“Jackpot.” said the new guy, nodding his approval. He turned around, to look at the furious Silencer who was finally emerging from the car. 

The charm was pretty straightforward in its meaning. Ladybug looked up to the others; Chat Noir nodded and gave her a toothy grin, not needing any words. The new ally tipped his hat, and they knew he had gotten it. 

“You hit him low, I'll hit him high, okay?” he asked to Chat, receiving a thumbs up. 

Nothing more was needed. The two male superheroes bolted towards Silencer, an usual if inspiring sight for any onlookers. 

But everyone, Chat and Ladybug included, were startled when the odd-looking fellow yelled out: _**“SAVOIA!”**_ , bayonet at the ready. Somehow, even the Akuma was shocked a bit, as he froze. 

That made things simpler. Even though he recovered quickly, Chat went low, swinging his staff at his legs and forcing him to sidestep and jump away, while his ally used his rifle as a blunt weapon. Judging by their enemy's hisses and groans, it was pretty effective. 

Ladybug therefore had all the ease in the world to come closer from the side and, when she thought she was close enough, turn the knob of the loudspeaker. 

She almost regretted to have done so, though. The thing was LOUD! Chat yelped and almost jumped away to find safety, and the older man flinched and grimaced under his hat. 

Silencer was the most affected, however; his cry of pain and anguish almost made people feel sorry for him, as he fruitlessly brought his hands up to his earmuffs. His gun clattered to the ground, and Chat was able to ignore the sharp sound long enough to swipe at his legs, bringing him down hard.

 He tried to sit up, but a gaitered boot was quick to end up on his chest, pinning him to the ground. 

Ladybug hurriedly shut down the loudspeaker (was it necessary for it to be so loud?!), and scooted over, to find the akumatized object and purify it. 

But their new ally was already bent over to the defeated villain (who was quietly whimpering to himself, too crushed by that infernal noise to mount up any further resistance) and his hand was hovering over his costume. 

When his fingers came close to the earmuffs, he tensed up all of a sudden and quipped: “Figures!” He removed them and, straightening back up, offered the object to Ladybug. 

Puzzled, the girl eyed the man, who didn't react at all. A bit unsure, she looked at the earmuffs for a moment, before shrugging and applying force to them. 

And the Akuma duly fluttered away as soon as they broke. Ladybug's mouth opened a bit, and Chat frowned. As she let loose her yo-yo to get the butterfly, she shot a glare at their ally, who merely kept a poker face. 

Shoving these questions away for the moment, Ladybug focused all her thoughts on purifying the Akuma without speaking. Praying that it would work as the wordless Lucky Charm had worked. 

It did. The familiar light swept over, erasing any trace of the incident, and filling the streets with sound again, as overjoyed people found their voices once more. 

“Finally! Being unable to speak is not for me, My Lady, it was very – _meo-owch_!” Chat Noir quipped.

 Ladybug ignored him and focused on the man, standing at attention with the rifle at his side, looking up with a strange, far away expression. “Beautiful...” he muttered, seemingly awed by the feeling of Ladybug's power washing all over him. 

“Thank you for your help.” the heroine began. “Can I ask – who are you, exactly?” 

The man pursed his lips and, comically, brought his hand on the back of his head to give a good scratch; before he could answer, though, someone else intervened. 

“He is Italian!” announced Chloé. 

When the three looked at her, she defended: “What? He basically admitted that to me when I understood what he was mumbling! Even though I thought Italians had way better taste!” Her disgusted gesture was easy enough to decipher. 

The object of such disgust merely chuckled. Ignoring the mayor's daughter, he said to the two heroes: “Other than I'm from Italy, let's just say I'm here to help, if needed. You shouldn't expect me to show up every time one of these guys” and he pointed to the hapless man who was painfully moaning about his poor ears, “shows up.” 

“That's all we got? What are your powers? How did you get them?” Chat Noir pressed. 

After a pause, the answer was: “I... I can't answer that, right now. But if you are having doubts, I can tell you I have visited the old man; he knows about me, and is fine with this.” The meaningful gaze was hardly lost, it was clear to the two who he was talking about, with a confused (and increasingly irritated) Chloé being none the wiser.

 “So, I am sorry, but I really need to get going now.” he announced, and turned on his heels. Glancing at the blonde girl, he flashed an irritating grin and told her: “See you around. And please don't get into these mess like that, it's dangerous!” 

And, with a final tip of the hat, he took off. 

“...Seriously, how can he run like that?” Ladybug asked, frustrated. 

-

 As the befuddled protectors of Paris took their leave after their usual celebration, their unexpected ally ducked into another alley, away from onlookers and far enough from the Akuma incident. 

He took a deep breath and straightened himself, before muttering: _**“Tino, obbedisco!”**_  

The transformation dropped, revealing the Kwami once again; but it was not the only thing that dropped. Angelo crashed to his knees and his hands with a rasped groan, and Tino would have done the same hadn't his friend's hand shot up and caught him. 

For a long minute, Angelo stood there, unable to do anything else than forcing his arm to come closer to his body, shielding Tino from unexpected visitors. 

As soon as the pain ebbed a little, he fished in his pocket for a small flash, opened it and took a gulp. After half a minute, he poured some of the liquid inside in the cap, and brought his small friend near it, to allow him to do the same. 

A while later, Angelo huffed and commented: “Well, Fu's concoction works rather well. I feel better already!” 

“Yes.” Tino confirmed. “Even though, as expected, it hurt like hell.” 

With a grimace, the Italian stood up, slowly. 

“I know that. But...” He paused. _**“Nessun rimpianto.”**_  

That made his Kwami chuckle. “If you start singing that stupid song again, I'm gonna bite you!” 

Angelo let out a wheezing laugh. “Okay. But seriously... no regrets whatsoever.” 

“None?” Tino asked, with genuine concern.

 The man shook his head. “None.” Then the corners of his mouth twitched. “But if I'm not going to get some pizza for dinner tonight, I'm so going to regret it all my life!” 

“Pizza?! _**Muovi il culo, accidenti a te!"**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... this was the first Akuma battle, and I'm not thoroughly convinced by it. I'll need to think of somewhat better for the next ones. Fight scenes are just so hard to write, man!
> 
> So, basically this is Angelo being a little shit throughout the chapter. He knows everyone is like wtf, and he's enjoying the heck out of it. He'll be a tad more serious in the future, I promise; hard to clown around without the surprise, anyway...
> 
> For all those who don't live in Europe, let me tell you, there's little love lost between French and Italian people. Especially if it's about football (soccer for the USA fellows). Expect more of that in the future, because Angelo is proud to be Italian and ain't taking shit from anybody about that!
> 
> "SAVOIA!" (the Italian name of the House of Savoy, Italy's ruling dynasty from 1861 to 1946) was the battle cry of the Italian Army. It's not a coincidence Angelo is kind of a sucker for these things, I'm telling ya...
> 
> Tino is referencing an actual Italian song, which you can find in YouTube by searching that title.
> 
> The last Italian phrase is pretty straightforward with Google Translate. And yes, both of them are pizza addicts, because I am as well!


	4. Digging yourself deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero declares he's fine with his choice. No one really believes him.
> 
> The Queen shows up and wants answers. The Soldier just wants out.

Wang Fu was far from surprised when, in the Sunday afternoon, the surprising man, who had unwillingly forced him to broaden his horizons and ponder many things that he'd earlier dismissed as mere theoretical possibilities, knocked again on his door.

 

His surprise was a bit more evident when he took in his attitude. After all of his earlier doubts, his complete lack of an anchor to the worries of the world and of this city, and his paranoid fear of drawing attention to himself, he expected a grim resignation, a sad acceptance of the consequences of his choice.

 

The chipper, light tone of his voice, and his smug (smug?) grin were far from his predictions.

 

Fu even chanced a glance at the Kwami when the Italian was busy removing his jacket.

 

What he got in reply was a shrug.

 

Therefore, when he offered tea, it was with a side of concern and curiosity.

 

Luckily, his paranoia could take a step back in Fu's presence.

 

Raising his hands, Angelo cut to the chase and declared: “Before you ask, I am not putting out a front. What I'm showing, I'm feeling sincerely.”

 

“That is... most relieving. I guess you can understand why I would be a little puzzled.” declared the elder master.

 

Tino spoke up, the little sarcastic shit. “Of course. Who wouldn't be puzzled by some mood swings from the holder of an unstable and incredibly powerful Miraculous that could devastate Paris by sneezing the wrong way?”

 

“Hush.” said his friend, swatting at him, but he was smiling. “The truth is, on a level, I am relieved to be out in the open and let the others worry. Also... I'm feeling a bit smug.”

 

“What he means is,” the Kwami spoke up again, undeterred, “since he doesn't like the Frenchies very much, like the nationalistic fool he is, he's been giggling all day thinking at the headache he caused them.”

 

With mock outrage, Angelo growled: “Nationalistic?! Me? What foolishness!”

 

“You drank yourself into oblivion back in '06 when Italy won the World Cup, and wanted to vandalize the French Embassy.”

 

“I was just a little tipsy and excited.”

 

“You should have said so to the _Carabinieri_ who were running after you, after you pissed on the Embassy's door and screamed something like 'Take that, you chauvinistic arrogant bastards!'”

 

The Italian ignored him at that point.

 

“Anyway, for the... most part, I feel relieved knowing that I made a choice. That I chose something to fight for. It's... well, haven't had something like that in decades, so it's really unusual. But it's better than the emptiness I felt before.”

 

The Turtle Kwami flew up to him and, with a hint of reproach and another of empathy, told him: “I cannot gather what you must feel within your heart after what happened to you; yet I urge you not to fight just to feel something. One should fight for the right thing. For the right cause.”

 

On another these words would have been answered by bitterness or hostility; Angelo instead looked contrite, and scratched the back of his head.

 

“I am sure he does know that. He is already doing what he should; we mustn't burden him further.” interjected the Guardian.

 

The other holder smiled briefly, but it was only a flash. “Speaking of what is in my heart...”

 

Fu didn't prod him, and waited.

 

“...A part of me is scared, more than I've ever been in all these years.”

 

A nod was the answer. Followed by: “Are you scared by the fact that you have commited to a cause, and cannot take it back? That you'll have to see this to the end, and you cannot see such an end, whatever it may be?”

 

Angelo didn't look surprised at all by the master's on-point analysis; his eyes answered the questions enough.

 

Imperturbable, Fu bent down to pick up his cup of tea.

 

“You do have a choice. You could leave.”

 

Those eyes shot up, bigger and more alarmed than ever.

 

A mouth behind a beard opened to speak, but nothing came out of it for several seconds.

 

When something did come out, it was with deliberate intention.

 

“...It's not like I care if somebody were to accuse me to jump ship, or anything like that. I do not have anything to demonstrate, to the others... or to myself.” the glare he sent emphasized this point very much, “But I feel like I have to see this thing to the end.”

 

His stare flickered down, but then came back to meet Fu's with renewed strength, and a challenge to prove it wrong. “And I want to see this to the end.”

 

If it was a test, it was passed with flying colours according to the Guardian, who smiled accordingly and nodded appreciatively. “Then I guess what matters is doing our best now.”

 

The harshness dissipated from Angelo's face and the usual half-serious façade went back up. “Indeed. Speaking of which, you will likely be visited by Ladybug and Chat Noir soon.”

 

Sipping his tea, Fu reassured him: “Do not worry. I will not say anything that would betray your secrets, as they are yours to share or to withhold, but I will tell them that you are an ally to be trusted unconditionally.”

 

Again, the Italian looked contrite, holding his cup tighter. “They can trust me, but not even I can trust my powers, as I explained you. How will I be able to do my best?”

 

The Guardian and the Kwami smiled at the same time, so much that it was a bit creepy.

 

“We trust you, Angelo Ribotti.”

 

The tone would've been enough to make his emotional shields falter again; luckily Tino jumped in and deftly avoided that.

 

“Great, I'm no longer alone around here. Next time you need emotional support you better leave me the hell alone and go cry to them!”

 

The outraged roar out of his lips might well have been the sincerest laugh he'd had in a long time.

 

-

 

It was a way more subdued Angelo who exited the massage parlor.

 

Tino was worriedly checking him out, although to his knowledge the morose look was coupled to a levity that his earlier chipper behavior was instead lacking.

 

Their intimacy was such that Angelo, aware of what his Kwami might be thinking, looked down to smile at him.

 

“Don't worry. I needed that. I'll be fine.”

 

An oblique look. “Fine, as in...?”

 

“As in, it's water under the bridge. Let the future bring what it may. Meanwhile, for tonight I'm totally having _ruote_.”

 

That clinched it. Whatever Tino could say to try and cheer him up, it didn't matter in the face of his favorite pasta. That would leave him content and smiling in any situation up to World War Three.

 

And no, his own mouth wasn't watering at all.

 

But in any case, he was wary enough not to object when Angelo suggested to “ _stretch their legs a bit, just to get into the habit again_ ”, when in usual circumstances he would've absolutely flipped the bird at him.

 

Therefore, the Italian with practiced nonchalance slipped into an adequate corner, and again the power rushed to him after the words.

 

He looked down at his gloved hand, stretching the fingers and flexing the bicep, before nodding and JUMPING up to reach the roofs.

 

It wasn't that he feared, or predicted, to meet with another Akuma; just that, despite the price he would later pay, the rush that the power pulsating within his fibers, powering his leaps and allowing him to hold on to his carbine with enough force to crush an iron pipe, was such that he could almost forget anything.

 

Plus, if he were spotted again, the puzzlement of the Parisians over him would be given new data. Gotta stir the pot once in awhile, after all.

 

That last thought made him snort. Tino could be a total buzzkill, but he was savoring the shit out of this situation. Maybe that was why he could push the worry and the fear down so easily.

 

It was a good twenty minutes in before he congratulated himself on his prowess, borne out of decades of experience, on running on the roofs without even the smallest risk of an incident, even with his mind wandering.

 

No, that was not showboating, absolutely not.

 

When Angelo landed on a bigger roof than usual, with a humongous terrace, he decided that that was a good place to showboat.

 

Smirking under his beard, he chose a corner and, a foot placed against the railing, he moved his head slowly around, looking around for potential (and totally non-existant) threats.

 

He could hear his Kwami shouting: “ _What a fucking idiot!_ ”

 

“...What?! It's YOU!”

 

...And he could hear that, too; whatever it was.

 

A lifetime of experience allowed him to easily conceal any surprise, as he turned around (slowly enough, as he wasn't surprised, thank you very much).

 

And saw a familiar head of blonde hair in a ponytail, surmounted by sunglasses, and a face that was torn between surprise and irritation.

 

“...Huh. This city is smaller than I thought. Fancy meeting you again.”

 

He could've spared the drawl, true. But Chloé Bourgeois' reaction was worth it.

 

“How dare you! My father, the mayor, owns this hotel; everyone knows it!”

 

The Italian felt that he didn't need to push her buttons so much.

 

He ignored that feeling, and brought his hand over his mouth to (not) conceal a yawn.

 

“Should I be impressed or something? Better yet, do I look like I care?”

 

When she sputtered, too flustered to even speak, he flashed a smile.

 

“Might I suggest to put a sign around here, so dumb super-powered people like me could be properly warned not to trespass on this royal property?”

 

Was that the sound of steam coming out of her ears?

 

“This is RIDICULOUS! UTTERLY RIDICULOUS!!”

 

Angelo made a face, and tilted his head sideways in thought. “Probably. Yeah, it's likely ridiculous.”

 

Chloé pressed on, going straight into his face: “And you are somebody Ladybug supposedly chose to help her?! Are you kidding me?!”

 

That phrase was enough to make Angelo pause, if only for a tiny fraction of a second; but there was no danger in some information, at least.

 

With a shrug, he answered: “Sorry, but nobody chose me. I'm here on my own accord.”

 

Chloé's face went from furious to puzzled in a second.

 

“Uuh... what? Aren't you a Miraculous holder?”

 

“That I am. But... let's just say I'm in a very peculiar situation... in many things.”

 

Eyes were blinked.

 

“How?”

 

Angelo chuckled and turned away from her gaze. “Long story, which I am absolutely not telling.”

 

“Why not?”

 

He shot a glare, while pretending to check his carbine's barrel for defects.

 

“For many reasons, that are my own. Bottom line, my Dark and Troubled Past™ stays with me.”

 

Curiously, Chloé's face lost the compelling edge; she muttered 'dark and troubled' under her breath.

 

Letting his eyes wander towards the skyline, the Italian quipped: “So, given I'm not shelling out my sob story, guess I might as well leave before I'm getting fined, or ran out of the city by daddy dearest.”

 

As he made for the railing, the girl said in a strangely subdued tone: “Could you tell me... please?”

 

His eyebrow rose, as his boot came to a standstill. That last word was seldom found in her vocabulary, he'd heard.

 

With less irony than before, and just a tiny bit of harshness, he asked: “Why should I tell you of all people?”

 

In her eyes arrogance flared up again.

 

“I'm a fellow Miraculous holder! You can trust me!”

 

At that, Angelo again tilted his head, in a way of saying 'are-you-serious'.

 

“Other than the fact that I wouldn't go to either the Bug or the Cat to share my life story, and the fact that I am aware how you came into possession of a Miraculous,” at that Chloé had the decency of looking just a tiny bit contrite, even though outraged (and likely dismayed at finding him up to date), “what I heard from you yesterday says otherwise. Have you been benched or something?”

 

At the same time, though, he was asking himself, pointedly without finding an answer, _What the hell, why don't I just tell her no? Why am I asking all that? I don't care!_

 

What her expression told him – hurt, anger... hopelessness? He ought to know that well, he saw that many times in the mirror – made him, despite his self-proclaimed disinterest, rather curious.

 

Angelo was expecting her to shout or yell. Instead, she was somehow able to take a deep breath and speak normally.

 

“I was told that,” the bitterness in her voice was so apparent that he wanted to wince, “ my identity being public, being Queen Bee is far too risky to myself... and my family.”

 

Oh, that last word did make him wince. Damn it, it wasn't supposed to happen again. Not for that.

 

Angelo paused, and for a bit wondered what the heck was this all about. He was being too curious without even knowing why, and this girl had taken his 'I-don't-care' as permission to push onto him enough of her issues.

 

He wished he weren't such a great analyzer.

 

He also wished that Chloé used the buttload of money at her disposal to get herself a therapist.

 

But when the better part of him convinced him that he could do something small, he sighed and went up for her. And he spoke to her, for the first time without any trace of irony.

 

“That sucks. But anyway, going around and placing yourself in danger isn't going to get you that back. Try and be careful.”

 

Her head snapped up, her eyes showing surprise. Had she heard the different tone?

 

Then it was gone, in the time it took for her to cross her arms. “I thought you weren't supposed to care.”

 

 _I wasn't_ , he chided himself,  _I'm winging it, and failing epically_. But still, the Italian chose to answer nonetheless. “Yeah, well. Not to the point of wanting anyone's death.”

 

An eyebrow was raised, and a smug expression told him to be very cautious, for some reason.

 

“Looks like you can say something about yourself, after all.”

 

“Don't count on it. I could come here day after day, and it would take years to get anything of substance out of me.”

 

Angelo mentally kicked himself as soon as he finished speaking, and before her grin exploded. He had walked right into that one.

 

Chloé chirped with fake innocence: “Oh, is that a challenge?”

 

The man straightened himself into attention, his face impenetrable (more than usual) under the hat.

 

After he was done insulting himself for getting busted like an idiot, he reached a decision.

 

While keeping his eyes firmly into the girl's, the super-powered individual brought his hands together; and the left hand slowly pulled the glove out of the right.

 

And threw it to the ground before her feet.

 

“At your disposal.” he said neutrally.

 

Chloé wasn't as ignorant as people assumed, but it took her a few seconds of her mouth hanging open to recognize what he had done.

 

She wanted to chuckle or even laugh, but instead she bent down to pick the leather glove; then she offered it to him again.

 

“I'm looking forward for our next meeting, then.”

 

Taking the glove and placing it back onto his hand, Angelo tipped his hat in response.

 

As he walked to the railing to leave once and for all, he heard the last word he knew she couldn't give up: “But don't interfere with my manicure! OR my hair styling time!”

 

He didn't bother answering, and leaped away from Le Grand Paris.

 

The smirk he wore on his face could well be a grimace.

 

He couldn't get what had just happened; only two things were certain.

 

He had to come back sometime and be buddy-buddy with a girl who wanted answers out of him.

 

And Tino was _absolutely_ pissing himself laughing, right now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... First of all, sorry for the late update. This chapter proved somewhat difficult to write. If it looks like a bunch of nonsense... well, maybe it's because it is! :-P 
> 
> The two main characters finally meet in a non life-or-death situation... and it took me ages to get the scene down. Mainly because I had no idea what I was trying to jot down most of the time!  
> Angelo doesn't understand what is going on, because... well, he kind of can't. Years of shutting down any human contact out of paranoia might do that to you; and yet, he may not care (emphasis on may not), but he's not cruel, so if you find his angle you'll make him dance to your music in the end.  
> In the end I think I got Chloé how I wanted her. Basically this is her roping Angelo into allowing her to try and pry his secrets out of him, since what he said is enough to pique her interest; I'm pretty sure it's canon that she's VERY good at getting what she wants. Of course, other than her showing more than she would've wanted to someone who's an excellent observer, she may not realize herself that she wants and needs a friend. And a hug. But that's for later.


End file.
